Gill laughed.
"Fancy that now, Sammy—you, so bold as a hero with 'Turk,' as nobody dursn't handle but you, and yet feared of a little thing like a sheep-dog. I never would have believed it."
"You shut your head," answered the other. "You don't know nothing better'n to milk goats. The dog's a devil-dog; and I'd have shot him long ago if I'd had my way. But he's a terrible useful dog and if anything was to overtake him such as death he'd be a cruel loss. And if you dare to say I be frightened, Barton Gill, I'll be revenged against you some of these days."
Samuel was easily moved and could never stand the mildest jest against himself, or his brother. He glowered at Gill and his jaw worked.
"Don't cry about it," said Jacob kindly. "We've all got our likes and dislikes, Samuel. I wouldn't handle bees for the world, yet you can go among them and take the honey, brave as a bear. We're all frighted at some thing—if it's only our poor selves."
"'Tis a devil-dog, I tell you," repeated Sammy, "and 'Turk' hates him as much as me."
"Well I don't fear him. But can't Adam tackle him?"
"Yes he can. Adam's got the whip-hand of him, I grant. But Adam ain't there. He's gone away."
"Gone away—where?" asked Bullstone. "It isn't often your brother takes a holiday." A proleptic throb went through him. He felt that he knew Samuel's answer before he made it. And he was right.
"To Plymouth, after calves. Some proper calves he've bought off a man; and he's bringing 'em home by rail on Tuesday; and if I ban't at the station with this damned dog, I don't rightly know what might happen."